


Changes

by spicedrobot



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Unintentional Body Modification, Wing Kink, and charon is affected by it, hermes is a fertility god, slight mention of breeding, they are mushy idiots who touch dicks, wikipedia told me so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: One of Hermes's boons has an unintentional effect on Charon. He endeavors to take responsibility.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 146





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the fic where Charon grows a dick and gets it touched bone apple tit

Hermes is detail-oriented by nature. Tricks and trades are clever acts, after all, and require quick wit and often quicker feet. The problem, he thinks, is godhood. Live much too long and small, gradual changes are easy to miss, especially if you move faster than everyone else. _Especially_ if said changes concern an associate he’s known for eons, one that’s hardly changed in all the time he’s known him.

Hermes doesn’t beat himself up too much about it. He’s powerful, not perfect, and Charon isn’t exactly a forthcoming individual, and honestly? The boatman might’ve been just as clueless about the whole thing until it was staring them both in the face.

“Listen, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens! Gods rub off on one another all the time—not the best wording, but you get what I mean.”

Charon, for all Hermes’s rambling, doesn’t seem comforted. He’s clenching his jaw so tight that small, vaporous tendrils leak between his teeth. Hermes carefully keeps his eyes trained above Charon’s waist, not trusting himself in the least.

“Really, I _am_ sorry. Totally my bad. Had I known you were the first son, maybe I could’ve stopped it? Though this is usually a mortal boon so to speak—I’m a god of many things, and fertility is just another one of them—” 

Charon groans miserably.

Hermes’s wings flutter around his ears, visibly pondering as he regards his associate. 

“Well, could be virility. Maybe both! Mortals are pretty unique, so I don’t see why gods couldn’t have the same flexib—I’m not helping am I.” 

It couldn’t have happened in a better place at least; tucked away in a temple antechamber, a small, nearly homey room hidden from any shades or satyrs. Good thing too, those devious little hedonists would probably get a kick out of the situation. 

“Listen, I don’t want to leave you hanging. I’ll take responsibility. It’s the only professional way to go about it, and I doubt you want to go back to rowin’ when you’re like this.”

Another groan, whining and low. 

“I know, I know. Not ideal. But if you just kind of ruck your chiton up, I’ll take a look, okay? You don’t even have to do anything unless you want to.” 

The boatman’s stare is piercing. Hermes resists the urge to squirm.

“Look,” Hermes sighs softly. “You know I like to tease, but I’m serious, Charon. I won’t hurt you.” His wings twitch, then he grins. “Plus, I trust you can swing that oar even under this type of duress.” 

Charon’s shoulders sag, a beleaguered sigh rolling in vaporous waves from his mouth. Hermes knows he’s victorious when Charon takes off his hat and sets it on the parchment-covered table next to him. 

Hermes expects what he’ll do next, but as he watches the tall, harrowing figure bunch his chiton up inch by inch, exposing very real, physical legs and not just amorphous suggestions of human form, his thoughts go a little sideways. Long and lean muscles, patches of parchment thin skin, spidering, violet veins pulsing sluggishly with ichor, bone sharp hips. Hermes sharply exhales through his nose, feeling a telltale warmth flood through him.

“It’s uh, hm. You’re packing there, boss,” Hermes whistles, barely dodging the angry elbow angled at his head. “Just making an observation!” 

Charon’s hard, obviously, that’s how Hermes had realized what was amiss in the first place, but he didn’t know it would look so...normal. Not particularly thick, but long and gently curved, nestled above a perfectly serviceable set of balls. He even had light gray curls leading up his gaunt stomach. 

“I suppose you’ve been around long enough to know what you do with this, yeah?” 

Hermes’s trying and failing not to babble, impossibly impulsive when he’s so curious, when he wants to touch, wants to rile the old boatman who’s never really shown much emotion outside of, well, anything obol. He certainly seems flustered, a wash of violet across his normally sullen cheekbones, a grumpy sort of look that Hermes can only describe as adorable. Charon tightens his grip on his chiton, cock twitching, thickening under the god’s scrutiny. 

“Ah,” Hermes titters, reeling. “That’s certainly flattering. Gonna touch you now, that okay? Stop me whenever you need to.” 

He slips closer, determined to move at a slower pace, one that gives Charon time to react, one that gives Hermes time to savor. He draws his fingers along the underside of Charon’s cock, sensation silk smooth and warm. The noise Charon makes, deep and rumbling and cut off, is something that’ll haunt him later—he just _knows_ it—when he’s alone and a little more than desperate. For now, Hermes leans forward, curls his hand into a loose channel, strokes Charon from base to tip, pre-cum already wetting his fingers. Charon curls over, the haze of his breath haloing Hermes’s face, faintly moist, incense-tinged.

“How’s it feel?” Hermes says, swallowing thickly. “Been a bit pent up? Can you even tell? Dripping like this means you’ve been needing it for a while.”

Charon’s answering groan is quiet and throaty, subdued. Hermes feels the tension in Charon’s hips, muscles flexed, seeking. He shifts his grip, draws his hand a little faster, knows he’s smiling like a debauched idiot but can’t quite shake the expression.

“You can thrust a little, if you want. Do what feels good—like you’re fucking my hand, right, just like that—”

Hermes tightens up, not quite a vice but not so tentative, moving in sync with the jerky, off-kilter pumps of Charon’s hips. He’s staring between their bodies, fixated by the sight of Charon using him, purple-tinged, gleaming slick making a mess of his hand. It’s not the inexperience that does it for him, really, it’s the choked, broken little noises, the needy shifts of someone he’d thought immovable, unshakeable, coming apart at his touch, it’s that it’s _Charon_. His cheek shifts against the boatman’s chest—when had he moved so close—his arm drawing lightly around his back. He feels each tremble and shudder that rattles through his friend’s frame, each eager jostle and buried moan.

“Still okay, big guy?” he says, tipping his head up; Charon’s face is closer than he thought, mouth a shallow breath from his own. The boatman’s staring, eyes bright, narrow slivers, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, hair mussed, vapor escaping his mouth in shivery little huffs.

Hermes’s lips tingle, and he licks them in a quick swipe; Charon’s breath stutters an instant after. Hermes wants to kiss him, kiss him stupid and breathless. He wants to do a lot more than that. 

“You’re really pushing into me,” he says, quietly, to keep himself from doing other things he wants to do with his mouth. “Boon’s not just about sex. It’s seeding life. That what you wanna do?” Hermes bites his lip, twists his wrist on the upstroke, catching just beneath his glans again and again, tight and quick, before he says in a rush. “Breed me up?”

It’s easy to run his mouth, to prod and distract, to see how far he can push Charon’s buttons. Hermes convinces himself he’s joking about most of what he says, even as his ears burn and the rest of him’s not faring much better. He thinks, faintly, a slap is the face would’ve be less surprising than Charon all but falling onto him. Vapor floods into him when the boatman moans, hard and shocked, a telltale pulse against Hermes’s palm, and his hand moves before his brain catches up, working his cock firm and quick, unwilling to let Charon have some pithy orgasm as his first one.

“Good, that’s it, let it out—” anything to keep his lips moving and not dizzily claim the mouth panting against his cheek, to keep himself from pressing his huge associate against the table and teasing him until he comes again and maybe another time for good measure, dry and whimpering. He can feel the power of it, intoxicating, the thought of dropping to his knees and using his mouth, of discovering just how much of Charon’s body is needy and yielding for touch.

Instead, he milks his cock in gentle, long strokes, easing him down, murmuring sweet words _(that’s it, easy now)_ into Charon’s neck as shuddering puffs of air ghosts over his wings, ticklish and fluttering. It’s a minute or two before the boatman begins to recover his senses, drawing taller, finally releasing the horribly wrinkled chiton from clenched fingers, though the fabric catches on his slowly flagging erection. Hermes burns at the sight.

It’s only as he’s extracting himself from Charon does he realize the mess they’ve made, long, drying streaks across his fingers and along their clothed stomachs. _Marked_ , and he bids the thoughts that follow to pass swiftly. 

Hermes glances around to find something to clean them off with, but Charon lingers close, still focused on him.

“You okay? Did I—” 

Charon moans hoarsely—an annoyingly arousing sound—and traces a finger along Hermes’s cheekbone, then bridge of his nose, to his other cheek.

“What? Yes? So I’m flushed, but it doesn’t mean you have to—I don’t need—”

A palm gently flattens over his mouth, and Hermes really hates how that sends a hard shiver through his core. An exhale bursts against that rough skin when Charon presses his other hand to Herme’s cock, aching and perfectly ignored until this very moment.

“W-was I too mean? I can’t help it, you’re very fun to tease— _mph_.”

He’s too weak to this, the insistent hand snaking beneath his skirt, the hold on his mouth that becomes a clutch around back of his neck, holding him in place. His hips arch into Charon’s touch with an immediacy that’s more embarrassing than anything the boatman just did; he’s supposed to be the experienced once, damn it, but he thrills at his own technique used against him, at Charon rubbing against Hermes’s hip with renewed vigor. Teeth against a winged tip, sensation dancing the line between pleasure-pain that drives his voice an octave higher than normal, all his weight flattening against Charon as he rocks into his hand with unrestrained eagerness. 

“Y-you’re enjoying this way too much,” Hermes moans, but then again, so is he. 

Charon huffs a laugh against his wings. Then he drags his teeth along a tender inner feather, and Hermes loses himself in a long string of whimpered swears, bucking forward until his mess joins Charon’s upon their clothes. Only a full minute later does he realize how weak his legs are, how Charon’s been shouldering his weight since he took hold of him, how pleased the boatman looks, narrow eyes and a crooked mouth.

“Bet you’re proud of yourself,” Hermes mumbles. Another sighed chuckle that devolves into a grunt when Hermes grabs Charon’s cock. “Don’t be,” he whispers against Charon’s mouth. “I’ll have you begging before this is over.”

He makes good on his words, but not without a lot of effort and distraction on his own part; Charon infuriatingly, charmingly adamant on returning everything Hermes gives him and more in his own, quiet, pushy way. 

They’re absolutely naked, kiss-marked and messed by the time they finish one-upping each other, paying off and paying forward like they’re making up for lost time. Hermes is thankful that some of the river that runs through the temple is fresh and clear, even if they have to take care avoiding the gaze of any passing satyrs or Underworld prince.

Hermes finally manages to bring it up after they are mostly cleaned and clothed.

“I said I would take responsibility,” he starts, trying for conversational. “Not my expertise, but I can figure out how to...revert you back, if you want.” He gestures to Charon’s bottom half and immediately winces inwardly. “I, uh. I don’t regret what happened after but. I want you to be okay. I want us to be okay.” Hermes also wants to slap himself. “Are you o—”

A fingertip presses against his lips, a gentle groan, incense on his tongue as Charon leans down and brings their mouths together. This round of kissing is slower, less desperate, but pleasant, tingling—Hermes is giddy all over again.

“That a ‘yes’?” He asks, slightly breathless.

He’s not sure he’s ever been happier to see Charon nod in agreement.


End file.
